Runs in the Family
by Shiggity Shwa
Summary: Vala deals with three differently developed relationships in three AU storylines. Only chapter 3 deals with SGA. Each chapter is AU. Part 10 of 10 in the Troisième series. Vala/Cam, Vala/Daniel, Vala/Ronon
1. Carte Blanche

Runs in the Family

Chapter 1

Carte Blanche

It's well worth the wait. That's all it is.

"Beatrice." Calls her daughter over the boiling pot on the kitchen stove. The house isn't too grandiose, but not entirely a shack, a small cottage on the outskirts of the village, far enough away that the school is hardly a fifteen-minute walk.

The eggs are perfectly boiled and cooling on a cotton towel against the ragged countertops. She checks the clock over her shoulder, and then rolls her eyes. "Beatrice, you are going to be late."

"I'm here, Momma." Her daughter steps out adjusting the straps on her pack, one of her light brown curly pigtails caught.

Wiping her hand on the front of her apron, she turns off the dial on the stove and approaches her daughter. She has his eyes, light blue and piercing from halfway across the grand room. "How did this happen, my darling?"

Little shoulders shrug, but she never turns away, confident in her abilities. "I dunno"

Keeps her warm smile and lifts the padded strap to untangle her daughter's hair, letting it return over her back.

Beatrice's soft eyebrows raise and nonchalantly she explains, "I don't really want to go."

With a sigh, she straightens out the wrinkles in her daughter's shirt, then tugs her into a strong hug that only works to make more wrinkles. "I know, darling, but you have to try."

"Why can't I stay with you?" The small voice is muffled against her shirt sleeve.

"Because education is important, and your father would have wanted you to go to school and excel." It's becoming an overused answer at this point, but it simply has to do. She's tired of playing good cop and bad cop, of having to love and discipline for two parents.

Of having to worry for two parents.

When she returns from walking Beatrice to school, both reluctantly separating as the bell rung, she finds the house empty.

After ten in the morning and she's already finished her daily chores, weeded through the vegetable garden and done the washing up, polished furniture, made the beds and vacuumed all the rugs. The only difference now it's that her hair is a bit dishevelled and her heart is very heavy.

She sits on the couch, not bothering to turn on the television and lets her worry stew in the pit of her stomach. Tries to combat the horrible visions of her daughter crying or being led astray by a stranger with her learning and finding friends, not being so isolated, not taking after her mother.

As she unstrings her apron there's a knock at the thick wooden door. Assumes it's another toe-headed housewife eager to welcome her and show off her lack of prowess with a power mixer and sprinkles. The neighbors are close knit in this area and having only recently arrived on this planet, she's just been allowed to commune in activities like book clubs, where all the books are boring, or bake sales, where everyone else's sweets taste like trash.

But when she opens the door, two men in green army fatigues await her. "Mrs. Mitchell?"

"You boys cannot leave well enough alone." Left Stargate Command a little over a year ago with a then four-year-old, now five-year-old daughter as she tried to find a planet homey enough to get them situated. The SGC did not want her to leave, didn't go so far as to beg her to stay, but offered her basic freedom outside the mountain as long as she agreed to stay within Colorado Springs, all while still paying her out Cameron's benefits, but the whole situation became so tiresome.

"Mrs. Mitchell, you need to accompany us back to—"

"Well, I no longer work for the SGC, so I'm afraid your request has fallen on—" Ducks behind the door, closing it.

But there's a thump and she meets the resistance of one of the men's boots jammed in the opening of her doorway. Tries not to let her face display too much of the latent fear she's always feeling because one day she ignored the warning and one day he didn't come back. "Dr. Jackson gave us very specific orders Ma'am."

"My daughter is at her first day of school, and if you think I'm about to pull her out so we can go back to that chaos where she has no interactions with children or sunlight, then—"

"Ma'am, he's back."

* * *

Sits in a cold metal room, just like old times, although it's not exactly a brig, more of a holding cell for transferring. She's very suspicious and would be more vocal about her fears if Beatrice wasn't curled asleep with her head in her lap. She runs her fingers through her daughter's hair, pulling out bits of leaves and other debris she managed to get caught in it in only a half day of school.

The door whooshes open and she doesn't even acknowledge it, because every second that ticks by is just more validation that she's fallen for their trap of anchoring her back on Earth because perhaps she's too useful, or perhaps she knows too much.

"You don't seem as excited as I thought you'd be."

"That's because I've dealt with your people before, Daniel." Keeps her voice completely level, her fingers never missing a strum over her daughter's soft hair. His hair.

He perches on the bit of bench she's left available, his knees bumping hers and Beatrice mumbles in her sleep. "He's here."

"And I'm his wife, and I've yet to see him."

"You think he's not asking for you?" Daniel laughs, his eyes disappearing into many more lines on his face than she remembers. "He's still being examined by medical, and he's about one test away from ripping out the IV and taking off down the hallway."

"What if he's too different?"

"Do you love him?"

"I never stopped."

"Then I doubt that'll be a problem."

Daniel shrugs off his BDU jacket, and drapes it gently over Beatrice, who twitches in her sleep but still doesn't wake.

"What if I'm too different?"

His hand clasps over hers and then bounces against her knee. "Vala, I think you could be a completely different species at this point and he would just shrug it off."

* * *

Daniel leaves, going to check on Cameron, her husband whom she hasn't seen in four years, while she sits with her daughter who has no memories of her father aside from the ones she's planted in her head.

Nervous and hopeful.

Anxious and scared.

"Momma?" Beatrice draws her blue eyes up from her lap, fingers tracing the wrinkles in her slacks. "What if father doesn't like me?"

She grins softly, ignoring the vernacular, how it's reminiscent of a daughter she's failed before and reassures herself that this is a different child. A daughter born of love and whose parents sacrificed everything to ensure her safety, that she never know fear. At least not until now because aside from her cunning and her confidence, a bit of her self doubt has worn off on her child.

Sighs, relaxing into the weight of her daughter on her lap, the softness of her hair, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. In very precise, very clear words she explains. "Your Daddy loves you more than anything in any other galaxy. There is no way you could possibly disappoint him."

* * *

She goes in alone at first, not wanting to overstimulate either Cameron, who is still not cleared medically, nor Beatrice who walked down the old corridors like she was walking through a field of mines. Daniel agreed to sit with her and brought out the old Ancient Egyptian glyph texts. After kissing her daughter and ready to be escorted from Daniel's lab, she did not miss the familiar eye rolls as he began to explain the importance of lines in depictions of the Ra's Eye symbol.

Two soldiers stand at the door to the medical suite which whooshes open with a gust of cool, sterile air as she walks in. Expects him to be asleep, to be beat up and covered in wires and tubes and to have a few moments to collect her own thoughts and emotions while holding his hand. Just a few seconds to reassure herself that this wasn't another dream.

But he's sitting up in bed, darkened from the sun, from smudges of dirt now stained onto his skin. His face thinner and it makes him look irrevocably ill. They only manage to stare at each other from across the small area before under his breath he whispers, "You're even more beautiful than I remember."

His arms are frail and sunburnt, and he smells of open air and moss when they embrace. She buries her face in the crook of his neck while he cradles her because despite striving to be optimistic, she thought this reunion would never happen. When he peppers her skin with kisses, caresses her cheeks and arms, she cannot stop staring at him because the weight of the fear that's been holding her down for the last four years has fallen flat from her, and she takes her first real breath.

Lays with him as he explains his capture by a slave trader and his pivotal roll in causing the uprising that would eventually lead to his freedom and a drawn out return back to the SGC. Nods against his chest at every word he utters, listens to his heart thump, his stomach gurgle. His words soak into her hair and her eyes close, reveling in his warmth, his familiarity, the complete and utter trust of another being.

"When they told me you weren't here anymore, I figured you ran back to stealing ships and making shady deals halfway across the galaxy."

"I never stopped looking for you." Her own voice is far away, and he guides a blanket higher up to cover her shoulders.

"I know you didn't, Princess."

* * *

Reluctantly separated from him as Dr. Lam insisted he get a night of rest before the reintroduction of his family, of a little girl who was barely speaking and only toddled the last time he saw her. Would have put up more of a fight if his weakness wasn't obvious in his constant naps, which appear more as bouts of unconsciousness.

So she spent one final night holding her daughter in the room where they lived for three years, stroking her arm and retelling all the stories she's ever told about Cameron.

* * *

"She's very worried of what you'll think of her." Pets a hand through his hair while he slowly sips at his soup. Foods have been reintroduced to his diet today as they try to wean him off the IV instated for malnourishment.

"Honey, at this point I think she's got carte blanche until she starts dating."

"All right." Nods and tugs on the lobe of his ear once, watches his bright smile emerge before he slurps up another spoonful of basic broth. Her arms clasp around his head as she kisses the top of it, her body jittering with his chuckles. The spoon clanks back into the bowl and his arm slides around her waist. "I love you."

"I love you too." Soupy lips press to the inside of her bicep. "Okay." Taps her bum and drops another kiss to her wrist as he untangles her. "Enough waiting, bring me my kid."

* * *

Beatrice's hand tightens around hers as the whoosh of cold, sterile air puffs them both in the face. Despite all the reassurances she's offered to her daughter of how her father fell in love with her when she was no bigger than one of the brambles he plucked from her hair, she still plucks her steps precariously and keeps her eyes wide.

Big feet are on the ground at the side of the bed despite Dr. Lam's demands that he remain reclined for at least another day. He's changed from the medical gown to the blue scrubs they've all had the pleasure of wearing so often, and at his very first glimpse of their daughter his face brightens, and his posture straightens. "Holy shit, she looks exactly like you."

Perhaps pure flattery because she's never had that clear of eyes, or that light of hair, or those innocent chubby cheeks. But maybe he sees the parts of Beatrice that are her, just as she sees only those that are him. "Oh Bea, you're beautiful."

When he reaches a hand for their daughter, she ducks behind her legs, and she's certain his pained expression isn't caused by an overworked body. The commonality between them, she stoops, settling on her knees and taking both of Beatrice's hands in her own. "It's okay to be a little scared, Darling."

"What—"

Lifts a hand to silence him, and then hooks it onto the back of his shin. "But I promise you, your Daddy is a good man, he will always protect you, and he's never stopped loving you."

Beatrice's eyes float over to him before stretching out a hand to trace the wrinkles at the bottom of his pant leg. He reaches his hand down, slower than before, now knowledgeable of the damage he may do to their daughter's trust, but the worry is unwarranted as she sets her tiny hand in his palm.

Less than a minute later Beatrice sits in his lap, traces the wrinkles deep set by the sun in his cheeks and under his eyes as he tells her stories about cupcakes and Goose, then listens intently as she recounts how in three hours at school she managed to get into just as many fights, with boys nonetheless, and he offers her nothing but adoring support.

An hour later she's fallen asleep laying across his chest, and he moves his arms around her careful not to tangle any of the tubes.

"What do you think?" Questions from her stoop at the end of the bed, leaning back against his legs, against one of his feet tapping rhythmically against her hip.

He plants a kiss on the crown of Beatrice's head, tucking her tighter against him. "I think I was right when I said that she would be the greatest thing to ever happen to either of us."


	2. Run Hard

Runs in the Family

Chapter 2

Run Hard

It's a great reminder. That's all it is.

They're in a grand marketplace on a commerce planet when she gets the familiar itch, the familiar tug. That her life is growing too stagnant, despite being married, probably due to being married, and that she could simply disappear. Remove the pigtails from her hair, prop it up in a bun, drop her jacket in the crowd and slip down the nearest alleyway towards the gate. Sure he would likely not give upon searching for her, but at least it would give a little electricity to their life, their dreary life of going to work and reading up on Ancients or Asgardians or some other race, and then going home where he continues to read after supper while she does the washing up.

Things have been different in the last few months.

Before he would openly touch her, flirt with her at work, encircle her waist while he whispered exciting suggestions, his lips tasting the skin behind her ear. He'd race home as she shifted towards him in the passenger's seat, her hand sliding over his BDU pants, and squeezing his thigh. Sometimes they would start in the elevator, sometimes he would haul her from the mechanical doors to his apartment door and she would try her best to distract him while he fumbled with keys.

They would have sex on the couch, sometimes not make it to the couch and the wall or the floor would suitably do, sometimes the kitchen table and he always felt guilty about being dirty afterwards. They would order in Chinese or Thai food and when she fumbled with chopsticks and dropped noodles or sauce on her collarbone, he would lick it off.

Their lives were exciting on and off the field. He proposed to her one day after sex in the middle of a hot muggy summer, his air conditioning was broken and only the thinnest of sheets bound them together. Just reached for the bedside table drawer and produced a box with a perfectly ornate and sizeable ring. Knew her size and it slipped on and then she dipped back, and new sweat was born.

But that was the only thing being born.

After a year and a half of marriage and another year and a half of purposefully trying to have a child, they realized something was wrong. Something was wrong with her. A few of their rolls in bed turned out to be successful, but not for very long, and after all the pain, the blood, the tears, she felt less of an equal, less of a woman, and began to yearn for the days when she would fall asleep buried beneath a mountain instead of the unwavering pressure of his hand across her stomach.

Don't jinx it. Everything jinxed it.

Finally, Dr. Lam in working with a fertility expert was able to discern that when tiny, innocent Adria had healed her body, she had effectively and permanently closed the channels for another baby being conceived.

It made sense. No one wanted two Orici's gallivanting around the galaxy.

Daniel reassured her that he was perfectly content living out the rest of his life with her an only her as his immediate family, then nonchalantly suggested they might get a cat.

But she knew him before she left, and only knew him better upon her return.

He dried the blame for her with stoic emotions, with robotic hand holding, with innocent kisses and started wearing more and more layers to bed. Stopped touching her at work, then in the elevator, then all together.

It's their fourth anniversary together and he planned the cursory getaway on an off-world planet with spas and shopping and everything that should make her feel fulfilled and pampered, but she doesn't know if he did it out of love or duty. Doesn't know how deep and how long her denouncement in him removing himself from her emotionally and physically will last.

That's what makes her want to run.

So simple.

Drop the jacket and the pigtails and go. She has more than enough currency in her pocket and her hands move before her thoughts catch up to her, transferring the funds from her jacket into her pants. Her eyes dart around and focus on him chatting to a merchant at one of the stalls, and she walks backwards from him, waiting for him to look up and beckon her closer, to get her opinion on whatever's caught his eye, but he doesn't.

She waits, and he doesn't and with each second that passes, with each flutter of her heart, the back of her throat tingles as if she might be sick. The decision is made then, partly by him in his unknown lack of acknowledgement of her, and by her because her body produces no form of contentment.

Slips down a side alley, ducking in behind a dumpster, and yanks her hair loose, fluffing it around her face until the jacket becomes more poignant and she flaps it off, chucking it into the bin before her. Leans her arm against the side of the cold metal and sighs hard, trembling, trying not to openly sob.

"Vala Mal Doran," a voice calls from behind her and in her weepy, emotional state she assumes it's him and then she'll have to explain what she's doing in the alley and where her jacket got off too, and deal with his seething rage when he realizes she was trying to run again.

Instead she finds a man, one whom she's never seen before, aiming a gun directly at her head and sneering.

"Can I help you?"

"Get your hands up." Juts the gun at her and she does as he requested, not wanting to end up some nameless body in an alleyway.

Then realizes there's an unbalance in her not previously marked, one not brought on by the loss of children, the loss of want in her husband's eyes. That the sentiments swirling within her, while palpable are enhanced and overtaking.

"I've been trailing you for so long." The man's chuckles are malicious, as he motions for her to turn around and she hesitantly complies. Sure, if she was more level-headed at the moment she would be able to strike a plan of attack, but the emotions, the adrenaline mixing in her head are intoxicating, almost swaying her on her feet.

Cuffs snap against her wrists and the sensation is dangerously familiar. "I lost trail of you when you went to stay with the Tau'ri, but as soon as your signature came through the gate I recognized it."

"I'm sorry," Her mouth is watering, and words are starting to slur out. "Am I supposed to know you?"

"I'm working a proxy position, a mercenary hired by Borwald." A bounty hunter set up by her third husband's family. She groans, her forehead scratching against the rusted bits of metal on the dumpster.

Turns over her shoulder to try to talk some sense into the man still holding a gun dangerously close to the base of her skull, but her tongue is heavy. Does her best to try. "I killed him in self-defence you know."

"I don't care." Slams her back into the dumpster, the metal edge jamming into her temple, and she watches a drop of blood plummet towards the ground. Watches it puddle with a distracting confusion, only vaguely startled when the man whispers something dirty, something dangerous in her ear and slides Daniel's ring from her finger. Attempts to buck back against him, bash him in the nose with the back of her head, but her aim is off, and she only manage to irritate him. His hand clamps around her neck, wrenching her to stand still. "Silly woman, do you think that I won't shoot?"

As if to prove his point, a gun discharges. In her vision, now muddled, growing hazy and smoky, she watches as his body falls forward, bashing off the dumpster by her feet.

"Vala?" Hands cup her elbows and straighten her, but she keeps toppling over, her vision no longer in focus, instead dark and blobby. There's clicking, then the cuffs release from around her wrists, immediately jerks to disengage herself from whoever the man before her is. His voice and hands try to settle or restrain her and she doesn't remember anything else until waking up in the hotel room again.

* * *

"My head is killing me." She presses her forehead into his cool arm, willing the high temperature in her body away.

"He drugged you, probably slipped something to you at the café." Daniel dabs at the cut on her temple, trying to clear away the blood without reopening the wound he's secured with two strips from the first aid kit. "You're probably going to feel pretty crappy until it's out of your system."

"When will that be?"

"Probably by tomorrow morning. We're going to have to cut our trip short to get you back and looked over by Lam." Tosses the gauze into the bin and before she even has a chance to pipe up, he continues the conversation one sided, "and don't tell me that you're fine, because you're not. Whatever he gave you made you really paranoid and very complacent, the chemical composition of it could have—"

"Shhh." Hushes him rather rudely as she leans back against the pillows he's piled for her.

Even with her eyes closed she knows he rolls his, and she feels the flits of his movements cleaning up the area. A few minutes later he sets a glass of water on the side table and turns off the bedside lamp muttering, "Who was that guy anyway?"

"He was a bounty hunter."

"And what did you do that someone has a bounty out on you?" To his benefit, his voice only sounds a tad more disappointed in her than usual.

"I killed my third husband, his family must not be too thrilled that I'm still alive."

Daniel doesn't respond, just floats to the edge of the bed, sitting softly, his hand scooping up hers and resituating the ring upon her finger. He clears his throat and then stutters, "Why—why did you kill him?"

"Well he tried to kill me first and I was obviously better at it."

"Vala—"

She sighs, her hand flying out to find his hair or his cheek or neck, something she can caress, but he recaptures it, and kisses her knuckles softly, using his gentleness to get her to spout the truth. "He was very physical, Daniel, and not in the good way. Everyday. No matter how hard I tried, he would just—"

"That sounds like an entirely justifiable reason." The bed bounces with his weight as he crawls in behind her, his arms nudging beneath hers.

"You don't blame me?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Do you blame me for anything else?"

Cranes his head back away from where it's nestled against her shoulder. "Like what?"

"Well, I'm the one stopping us from being a complete family—"

"No Vala."

"What."

"That's out of our control." With a finger on either side of her chin he tips her head towards his, his eyes bright and clear as she fights against heavy lids. "Not once did I blame you."

"I did."

"Did what?"

"Blamed me."

"Vala—"

"When I was with him, my third husband, I got pregnant and I—"

"You're not in the right place to—"

"I couldn't bring a baby into that, Daniel."

"It's not your fault."

"I wouldn't watch as he—"

Daniel's arms crush around her chest, swoop her forward so he's half cradling her against his and his finger pull through her hair, travel up and down her arms in calming caresses and as she wonders why she's realized that she's openly crying.

Takes the comfort, rubs closer to his chest, and snakes her arms around his waist. When her breathing settles and her tears expel less frequently, he dips his head, lips crashing against hers, tongue slipping slightly into her mouth as his thumb swipes away the lingering moisture on her skin.

At separation, he bows his forehead to hers, the tip of his nose pressing hers, and he closes his eyes as if it's the first time he's kissed her and he's reveling in the sensation.

"I don't blame you."


	3. Specific People

Runs In The Family

Chapter 3

Specific People

It's all she's ever wanted. That's all it is.

She tucks herself in closer to the plush comforter, wanting to turn onto her side but has no energy to get there. The automatic blinds are drawn against the window and the room is a marvelous gray during the day.

The other side of the bed is empty, but the wrinkles remain from a few hours ago when they both got up for breakfast. Afterwards, she sat for half an hour in her office before deciding that the light was too bright, that the symbols were jumbling before her, and that the floor by her desk had a very unpleasant slant.

Only managed to water the thriving purple flower vining down the side of her filing cabinet, before sulking back to her room and the safety of being supine.

Twists her head to the side, acting as a proxy for her body, and counts the minutes before one of her boys catches whiff her trail and interrupts her need to sleep.

Just as her heart starts to settle, along the acid in her stomach, and the pounding at her head, a rap comes from the door followed immediately by the whoosh of it opening.

"Mom?" Samson pokes his head, covered by a dark tuft of brown hair, through the door. He squints, noticing her form collapsed onto the bed. Barely dragged her legs under the covers because half the time she's sweating and frozen, and the other half she's shaking and on fire.

Wills him to close the door and return to his studies, but it's probably around lunchtime and he's obviously strayed from his supervision to track her down.

He's nearing six years old, and with the parents he has, his independence is rocketing through the roof. At six she was already on to petty thieving and minor property damage; however, he only appears to riot when specific people are not around.

Her specifically.

The phase started when he was about three and a half. She was late coming back from an off-world mission—examining some of the remnants in a village previously decimated by the Ori—nothing serious, just delayed a day from the unforeseen circumstances of irregular climate on the barren planet. They had to hole down in tents during a massive sandstorm but were able to leave the next morning.

When she returned, McKay thrust her son into her arms, huffing that he was an absolute terror to deal with. Samson clung to her neck like a primitive jungle animal and refused to let her go. During dinner, Ronon sat beside her and cut up their son's meat, Samson sat on her lap and refused to get off. Even slept in the bed with them for the next few nights until they insisted he move back to his own room.

Thankfully with aging up, he's lost a bit of the physical clinginess, but still follows her around like she's a mother hen leading him through a barnyard. It does make her grin though, because out of everyone on Atlantis, out of all the adults and parents, she's the one who won his heart and she adores winning.

And she loves her son more.

"Come here, my sweet boy." Beckons him into the room with a whack on the mattress beside her, where Ronon would usually be, but her poor husband is probably still waiting in the commissary for their son to show up, trusting he can take the elevator down six floors by himself.

Samson wastes no time, blasting across the bedroom and jumping onto the bed with a belly flop and that famous high-pitched giggle. She shares his glee, managing to turn on her side, facing him. "What are you doing here during school hours?"

"Auntie Sam stopped by with some General and said you weren't coming to lunch because you didn't feel good." He's missing both his front teeth and the words come out in a bit of a lisp, which she only finds more endearing. Every moment she spends with him she discovers something more about him to be proud of.

He reaches his hand forward and pokes his index finger into her stomach where her navel has nearly pushed inside out. "Baby making you sick?"

"Yes, but not on purpose." When his face scrunches in confusion, she elaborates, "you get tired after lugging your backpack to and fro from class?"

"Yeah, it's heavy."

"Well carry it around all day, every day, for ten months."

"Even at night?"

"Especially at night."

"That sucks."

She hates when he hangs around too much with Sheppard or Rodney. Absorbs their colloquialisms like a sponge and then he sounds too adult for his own good. But her boy laughs, his tongue sticking between the void in his teeth.

The finger against her stomach turns into a flat palm, searching.

"Here." She guides his wrist gently placing it flat against the area where the baby is kicking.

His blue eyes burst wide, and as if it was the next natural step, he leans his head over to listen to the baby but gets punted in the head instead. With a gentleness he offers, "I don't have to go, if you don't want me to. I mean, if you're afraid the baby is gonna get here while I'm gone."

She sighs because it's a topic they've already discussed at least once a month since she found out she was pregnant, and it will be a rerun discussion. "I think you'll have a lovely time."

"Maybe, but maybe I don't wanna go though."

"You say that now, my Darling Boy—" The stabbing ache across her hips forces her to roll flat onto her back once again. The gentle gray of the room is still inviting, and she has to fight not to close her eyes. "Once you get there and get settled into camp, you'll be having too much fun to even think about anything else."

The bed jostles as he crawls up to sit with his back against the wall. His little arms fling against each other as they cross, and he's certainly perfected her pout. "I hate Earth."

"Oh, I don't think that's true." Bumps his contorted little body with her shoulder and watches as he hermits more closed.

"Yeah, it is."

"Why?"

"You all always just go away," his grunt this time is a little softer, his voice cracking up a bit at the end.

"Oh, my sweet boy." Coddles him, kissing his soft hair, as he peeks with red-rimmed blue eyes from beneath his huddled arms. Sometimes he looks so much like Daniel, that even after all the years, it still hurts. "Look at your dear mother, she can't even leave the bedroom, let alone Atlantis."

"I just want to stay here with you and dad."

"I know you do, Darling, but your camp is only two weeks."

"Why do I have to go?"

"You don't have to go, Samson. But it would be good for you." Scoops him towards her, and he tries to claw his way to the other side of the bed, but she's too quick. Her cheek rests atop his head and she can feel the muscles of his scowl—actually it's her scowl. "You're a very lucky little boy who's been afforded many luxuries—"

"But?"

"But, don't you think it would be beneficial to interact with children your own age?"

"I have Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay—"

"Yes, and while they're mentally at the same age as you—" she sighs, ignoring the heavy pressure of the baby shifting within her as she adjusts her posture once again. "Don't you want to go to Earth and play outside?"

"In a park?"

"Yes, with grass and dirt and other things children should be getting into that you can't." She kisses his forehead loudly and he giggles at the sound.

It's not that she wants him away from her during the last leg of this pregnancy, but it's not fair to keep him cooped up in this place, especially when her energy is depleting more by the day, and the majority of Ronon's attention has been on her since she told him they were expecting.

"Plus, the councilors don't know the rules your father and I have implemented for you, so they'll be very easy to sway."

The bedroom door whooshes open again. He's quite later than she expected. Assumed he would head directly back to their apartment when Samson didn't meet him at the lunch rendezvous point.

"Please tell me I didn't just walk in on you teaching our son how to manipulate camp councilors."

"No, not just camp councilors, any leader figure." She taps Samson, shooting him forward towards Ronon who grabs their boy with ease.

"What's going on, Pop?"

"What's going on? What's going on?" Ronon puts on a show as good as any of them and perhaps that's why they get along, because of the over-exaggerated drama. "What's going on is you ditched me and Aunt Sam for lunch."

"I heard mom was sick—"

"That's no reason to—"

"Oh really, Darling, he was just checking in on me."

"Don't defend him." It sounds like a demand, but instead comes out as a hearty chuckle. "He needs to listen to his teacher and listen to us when we tell him to—"

"Blah blah blah." Puppets her hand to move like mouth and Samson hides his sweet face against Ronon's burly shoulder. "He's a free spirit, just like me. That should be encouraged."

"Oh, that's a dangerous idea."

"Pop, I gotta go pee—"

Ronon complies, setting the boy on the ground and watching him take off through the door and to the washroom. "When you're done we're going to go meet Aunt Sam and you can apologize to her for making her wait."

The door whooshes shut without any verbal comprehension on Samson's part and she drowns a snicker before it becomes a full out laugh. "He's not sorry."

"He should be, he's wasting—"

"He did what he thought was right." Arcs her shoulders and tries to shimmy up the wall into a sitting position, but only makes it halfway there. With a sigh of defeat, she drops her hand around her stomach, plump and stretching against the black t-shirt, knowing the simple gesture will win her the fight. "I'm proud of him."

"That's not fair." It sounds like a mutter, like a whine Samson would give before coming up with a witty verbal debate instead of throwing a tantrum. But Ronon's face holds a smug grin as he slowly approaches her, his hand dropping to her stomach. "You know you'll win."

"I always win." Directs his hand to the area of bombardment and doesn't stifle her grin when his next segment of thought tells him to place an ear against her stomach and is rewarded with a punt to the head.


End file.
